Page 47

CHAPTER 47

T he quarters were utilitarian, undecorated, but spacious enough. Clean metal walls, bolted fixtures, a large bed with a simple spread. The lighting was warm, almost surprisingly pleasant—soft golden tones that diffused across the ceiling and walls, more reminiscent of Earth than Sylvia expected.

Almost familiar.

There was a basin with fresh water. Steam drifted up from a tray on a side table. Food. She didn’t recognize it, not exactly, but it was hot and aromatic. Some kind of meat stew in a thick, dark gravy with a white, starchy substance alongside it, steaming and soft. It looked almost like mashed potatoes. Alien mashed potatoes.

It seemed… edible enough. Hopefully, it wouldn’t poison her.

Kyhin carried her in and deposited her gently in a wide, cushioned chair.

He crossed to the food and brought the tray over.

Then, to her faint amusement, he picked up one of the utensils—a polished, metal tool somewhere between a spoon and a fork. A spork. Of course. Aliens had sporks, too.

And, with utter seriousness, he crouched before her and offered her the first bite.

Again with this, she thought. Feeding her. He insisted on it.

Warmth unfurled in her belly: not from the food, but from the act itself. From the tenderness buried in his domination. The way he controlled the moment, but made it feel like worship.

Still, she lifted a hand. Pointed to his helm.

"Take it off," she murmured. Her voice was soft, coaxing.

He tilted his head slightly and grunted.

Was that… amusement?

Then, obediently, he removed it.

The instant the helm clicked free, he breathed in, and she saw his nostrils flare wide. His pupils dilated. A tremor rolled through him. His chest rose with a sharp inhale.

His lips curled into a grin. Knowing. Possessive. Delighted.

God help her.

That reaction. He was imbibing her and showing her what her scent did to him.

He knew exactly what that little display did to her.

Then he fed her.

Bite by bite.

The stew was rich and savory, the starch velvety. Alien, yes, but nourishing, grounding. She let him control the pace—slow, deliberate—yet he waited for her cue to move on, never pushing.

So patient. So maddeningly gentle.

When she was finished, a soft chime rang through the room. She looked up.

One of the Rovok crew stood at the door, hunched and uneasy. He said nothing, only extended an object into Kyhin’s waiting hand.

Then he vanished.

The door slid shut.

Kyhin turned and approached, revealing what the crew had delivered.

A smooth silver object rested in his palm. Round, about the size of a large stone, polished to a mirrored sheen. It pulsed faintly, almost organically.

Sylvia stared at it, puzzled.

He held it out to her.

"What’s this?" she asked aloud, English curling softly off her tongue.

To her shock, the sphere pulsed and echoed her voice, only now it layered it with something else, another language, the sounds strange and sharp, projected toward Kyhin.

Translating her words in real time.

Holy crap.

He grinned, eyes lighting with satisfaction.

Then he spoke. The translator shifted and replied in perfect English.

"I can understand you now," it said, in a tone eerily matched to his deep, commanding voice.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

"Not a god," he replied without irony. "But some fear me as such. And I will keep you safe. I swear."

Her heart stuttered.

"You’re called… Kyhin," she said reverently. "What are you, exactly?"

"I am a Hvrok. Probably the last of my kind. The rest of my people were wiped out—by their own doing."

She let that sink in. The weight of his words. How lonely that must have been.

"Why did you buy me?"

He shrugged, unapologetic. "A whim. I thought you were beautiful. I wanted to have you."

"Oh." It stung. The simplicity. The selfishness of it.

"And you are going to keep me… as your creature, for your amusement."

He met her gaze steadily. "That was the beginning. But it has changed. I see what you are now. You are precious. I will never let you want for anything. You will be safe. Pleasured. Cherished. You will be my queen."

"What if all I want is to go home?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

For the first time, his expression shifted.

Crestfallen.

And gods, it tugged at her heart.

"You cannot have that," he said quietly. "But I can give you contact. With other humans. Even visits, if you wish. I will accompany you. Guard you. I will use a holographic disguise. There are humans scattered across the stars—taken, like you. I can find others. You will not be alone."

Her world tilted.

Others?

Her mind reeled. And yet… she believed him.

She also knew, deep down, there was no going back. Not really. The beach. Her job. The monotony of her old life. She wasn’t the same.

She would never be the same. She could never go back to what she had been.

But she could keep those bonds, those links with her past… if he allowed.

"Then promise me," she said. "That I’ll see my people again. And that I won’t be a caged pet. I need a purpose. Something real. I won’t exist just to please you."

He leaned forward, voice low. "What if I wish to exist just to please and protect you?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came.

Only her body answered, heat blooming deep within, betraying her.

She shook her head in exasperation.

Again, that thought swirled through her: of being his.

And again, she didn’t hate it.

He gestured lightly to the collar still circling her throat.

"Shall I remove it?"

Her fingers lifted, tracing the cool, jeweled surface.

Priceless. Alien. A symbol of his claim.

"No," she whispered, meeting his gaze. “Leave it. It’s mine now."